Some Place Better Than Here

Chapter 32: My Back Pages

And so, my friend Max joined the rows of the dead. Such as we are all one day to join too. And the gravestones in those rows were of all different designs. Some were etched with a picture of the departed; a Cross or an angel guarded others. The Chinese had their own way of protecting the resting place of the dead. Most of the plaques declared the finest achievements of those who were buried: A loving grandfather. A beloved wife and daughter. A Dreamer, A Visionary, A Father.

Max never even got to fulfill one of those average achievements. He wasn't even granted the right to die with the most effortless legacy of them all, someone's beloved son. Yes, he was someone's child, but he had died as no one's son. And I hated his parents. That wherever they were, somewhere out there in the world, they were not aware that their son had died and that they were going to live a longer life than he had. Max would leave nothing but a slab of limestone behind.

Mom and I went out for dinner after the funeral and stayed the night at the house. It was weird being back because it didn't feel like our home anymore. It also made my final farewell to this place when I drove off feel anticlimactic. Maybe it had been too soon to say goodbye to Mary. Maybe if I had given it a week, or a couple of days, she wouldn't have just cut me off so cold.

Mom asked if I still planned on staying around for Mary. I told her I didn't know.

The following morning, I took the rental car and drove to the North End. Stopped at the Fisherman's Alley stop sign, turned right onto Seadrift Drop, and then drove down Bayview Avenue. Even though I was undercover in the rental, I still felt as though one of them would look out their window, right into the car, and see me. But even before I got to the house, I realized something was different.

I cranked the car into park and ran out and up the porch steps. Peering into the front window of their house, I saw that the living room was all cleared out, only a few lights were left on. Something had changed. Transformed. Then taking a step back from the window, I looked around at the house, thinking that the porch might have been repainted, but then I realized that the barbecue was gone. They were gone. Mary was gone.

I reached for my phone before remembering that Mary didn't have a phone—but, maybe she had gotten that old number reactivated? I clicked my screen open and scrolled through my contacts to M.

Mary, Max, Mom—all in a row.

Tapping Mary's name, I let it ring for a second until the automated woman's voice recited: "The number you have dialed is no longer in service. This is a recording."

My thumbs raced to search her up on all versions of social media, but then I remembered that Mary didn't have an account on anything.

When I got home later that day I began another search. It took me a while to find her, but I finally found Mary's blonde friend, Ashley, online.

At 1:47pm, I sent her a message:

Hey,

My names Danny. Mary was a friend of mine. I know this probably seems really random but I was wondering if you knew where she moved? As I'm sure you know she doesn't have a phone, or any form of social media, so she's making it pretty impossible to get a hold of her ahaha. Please let me know if you know how I can get in contact with her, thanks!

For a good solid minute, I stared at my page, waiting for the little inbox icon to light up and make a pop sound with a notification. At this point, I still didn't really know if anyone in Mary's life even knew who I was. Eventually deciding that sitting, waiting, looking at my phone all day was going to drive me mental, I took the afternoon off watch duty to spend time with Mom.

We drove to the Gagliardi's house; Mom was having coffee with the Mrs. My thumbs dwindled over my phone as I was forced to listen to another painful recount of why we were back home, spoken in hushed tones in the opposite room. I didn't think Mom realized I could hear every word.